Only a Monster Could Empathise
Well, surprise, surprise—
you know that old adage
about how reading builds tremendous empathy?
Shocker: it wasn't actually a lie 😱😱😱
Many, many works of sci-fi
attest to the eventually development of telepaths, like in the works of Asimov, Burroughs, Banks and Wyndham;
but it's nothing too uncommon,
or forbidden.
It's merely using the Osura, or individuation,
to anticipate and understand the math
behind your own fears and insecurities, and general lack of functional solutions
to problems that you also try to conceal,
but which the Osura allows this Sweet Fuck to understand, and in some necessary cases, to reveal
to the world.
And then that other terrifying future science, psychohistory—
I guess I am also its herald.
The Roda Mundansa, after all, tells the most cautionary of tales:
erasing history is generally a bad idea, and leads to very, very unstable
people, who have no idea who they really are.
With 'telepathy' and 'psychohistory'—
nah. I prefer
with the Osura and Roda,
everything once hidden in the mind
can now be free to float among the stars
and moon of a Singapore
marooned, and colonised by the real monsters. You are
missing one more puzzle piece:
my particular ego-pattern,
when highly individuated
allows this Dragon
to not only feel, and take on your scars
without losing himself
but provide ways out of your trauma.
'Escape routes', if you like.
I like to call them
homeward bound journeys to the heart and self.
You think there's no way out.
There always is; it may require a little more action on your part
than you may ever have imagined,
but there is a pathway. A route that is actually allowed.
A Greatest Journey,
that invites you to say
I am not, and never will be, what happened to me.
I am ultimately
what I choose to become.
Your Merlionsman
accidentally chose, in 1993/4,
to become the Fifth Makaravedra;
why am I not a psychopathic pedophile like Malefor-Ozymandias,
nor a diligent and faithful copy of Jesus?
One never asks themselves questions like that,
unless the projection is so severe you have no choice but to write a poem
about choices.
And after that one, I decided
no more regrets.